Golden Flames
by silverphoenix00
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a photography student at the prestigious Blackwell Academy. Everything is great and he almost feels like he's on top of the world. Until he overhears a conversation that reminds him Blackwell and its students aren't as they appear. Now Alfred has to decided: forget the conversation and its sinister undertones or team up with his ex-best friend.


The grounds of Blackwell Academy were lit aflame, leaves of orange, yellow, and red carried along the light autumn winds that glowed in the dying light of the sun. It was truly The Golden Hour, one that Alfred couldn't simply waste away in his dorm. Instead, he saw the flaming leaves through the lens of his camera, held steadily in his hands in attempt to catch the vivid colors in a single, frozen moment.

Small shutter sounds clicked in his ears, capturing picture after picture as the wind whispered over the clicks. A wide smile spread over his face as he brought the camera down, flicking through the pictures with practiced ease, eyes scanning the images diligently in search for any flaw. Satisfied with the captured pictures, Alfred allowed the camera to hang around his neck, the strap baring the full weight of the camera as he lowered it and looked at the scene with his own eyes.

Pictures, Alfred found, could only capture so much. A single piece of a much bigger puzzle because the bounds of a picture only went so far. Cameras captured a single moment; people, when they paid enough attention, captured a lifetime.

So, Alfred sat and watched the sunset, staying until the golden flames had faded into calming hues of blue and purple. His fingers itched for the camera, wanting to take more pictures of the fading scene, but he resisted, knowing that if he stayed on the hill any longer he'd break curfew (if he hadn't already).

Huffing at the rapidly chilling air, Alfred pushed himself up off the ground, steadying his camera with his hands to prevent it from swinging. As silently as he could, he made his way across the grounds, passing by the shadowy buildings Alfred had only ever seen in the daytime, and back to the dorms. Careful not to bump his camera on the door frame, Alfred slipped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when the danger of being caught had passed.

Then the yelling started. It was faint at first, barely noticeable so far away, but growing in volume with every step Alfred took back to his floor. He could feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, worried that the argument would be on his floor and that he'd be the one having to break it up. It wasn't unusual for anyone to be up this late, it was only nine-ish, but to be arguing in the middle of the floor was something else entirely. When Alfred came to his floor, he stopped, pressing an ear against the door in attempt to tell where the argument was. It was definitely on his floor, somewhere to the left of the stairwell.

Before he could tell who it was, however, the argument went silent.

Cautiously, Alfred cracked open the stairwell door, eyes searching the hall to see if the coast was clear. Instead, he saw two people standing together closely and talking in low, heated tones. One, Alfred knew, a football player named Gilbert Beilschmidt. He stood over the other boy in what looked like an attempt at intimidation. The other boy wasn't having any of it. His back was against the wall, arms crossed and emerald eyes sparking with so much hatred Alfred almost felt scared for Gilbert. Dyed green hair peaked out of the beanie on his head, coming to brush against his eyes and barely hiding his absolutely massive eyebrows. The boy looked familiar, like an echo of someone Alfred used to know, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, Kirkland," Gilbert spat at the other boy. "This is your last fucking warning."

Wait, Alfred thought. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. Kirkland? As in Arthur Kirkland?

As in the friend you abandoned? His brain whispered venomously.

Arthur snorted, clearly not believing whatever Gilbert was trying to sell.

"Oh yeah?" he nearly growled back. "And what exactly are you going to do? Call your rich fucking daddy? I'm sure he'd be happy to buy your way out of this until everyone learns that his precious son was dealing oxy to the entire fucking football team. If you weren't a freak before, then just wait until the newspapers get a hold of that headline."

Gilbert growled and reached into his pocket, placing an arm above Arthur's head to trap him against the wall.

Then he pulled out the knife.

Arthur's eyes widened, and Alfred froze in place. Gilbert had a knife. He had a knife and he was threatening Arthur. He should do something, right? He should do something. Call the police, maybe? Would they get there in time?

"Maybe you should just keep your fucking mouth shut," Gilbert said lowly, "and stick to being a degenerate punk instead of playing Nancy fucking Drew, Kirkland."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur hissed, eyeing the knife in trepidation.

Alfred glanced around the stairwell, looking desperately for something that would help, panic nearly overwhelming him. There had to be something...anything that he could do to prevent his childhood friend from being stabbed to death. But before he could do anything, an ear piercing, shrill sound ripped its way through the building.

He looked back in time to see Arthur driving his knee into Gilbert's groin and ducking away, revealing the pulled fire alarm on the wall behind him. Slowly, people began to emerge from the dorms, confused, sleep deprived heads popping out of the doorways before cautiously flooding the hallway to file out of the building. Alfred tucked himself against the wall of the stairwell, determined to stay behind and make sure nothing else happened between the two remaining boys.

"This shit isn't over Kirkland," Alfred heard Gilbert yell over the blare of the alarm.

"Really?" Arthur said back, Alfred could practically hear him quirking an eyebrow, "It looks over to me."

Alfred peaked back into the hallway and saw Arthur turn his back to Gilbert, sauntering towards the stairwell in effort to leave the football player behind.

Instead, he followed heatedly, his face sneered into something nearly animalistic.

"Kirkland!"

Alfred pushed into the hallway before he could think twice about it, too worried about what would happen to Arthur if he didn't do something. Both boys froze instantly, eyes falling on Alfred expectantly. Alfred began to feel like a deer in the headlights, all the well-planned words disappearing from his head in an instant. He watched the expressions on Arthur's face go from shock to annoyance to neutral and wondered if the other boy recognized him at all.

"I...umm…"

Think, Alfred, think.

"I just wanted to make sure everyone got out."

Arthur crossed his arms and scoffed, bringing back the many childhood memories of when Alfred had been on the receiving end of that look. For a moment, Alfred thought that Arthur would say something to him, a snarky quip or a harsh, bitter comment that he honestly deserved. Instead, Arthur brushed past him without a word and disappeared down the stairwell with the rest of the Blackwell students.

Before Alfred could overthink Arthur's actions, however, Gilbert approached him, red eyes combing over him in attempt to tell if Alfred had overheard anything. "Whatever you think you heard, Jones, you didn't. Just remember whose family owns this fucking town."

With that, Gilbert stormed away, not giving time for answer. Alfred stood alone in the dorm hallway for a couple moments, processing what the hell had just happened. Should he go to the police? Gilbert was clearly dangerous and unstable, but ultimately right about his father practically owning the town. He could go to the Principle or the Security Officer, but would it result in the same thing? And how was Arthur mixed up with Gilbert? Was he on drugs? And if that were the case, what did Gilbert mean by him 'playing Nancy Drew'?

He could ask Arthur and get all the answers he wanted. But how would his ex-best friend react to him suddenly showing up after eight years of radio silence? Probably not well.

Regardless, he couldn't just leave it alone. If Arthur was in trouble, then the least Alfred could do was help. He was the hero after all...right?

* * *

And a wild Silver appears!

Gonna be honest guys, I feel like I've been gone forever and I probably have been. A lot has been going on but, nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed it! I was inspired by a Hetalia blog on Tumblr who suggested the idea of a Life is Strange AU for Hetalia and I was like hell yes. Thus, here we are.

For those of you wondering (I don't know how many of you actually are) I have not forgotten my historical Hetalia AU. It is being rewritten right now and will soon be updated (I swear it)!


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